This stole of pelage brings the onset of memories of a friend of the former: Phil.
Upon a point along the way of time, it has become customary for Phil to, in a moment of time, become a living almanac page. Oh! the absurdity of a fiendish, and sleepy, rodent in full belief he can sense the shift of the air in an extended forecast of a season's journey. Quite pompous, if you were to ask me!
But my Carlow holds on to his Phil, in more ways than one, to see if the gardening may be tended to in a timely manner. I also believe he may be catching a bit o' a bug in forecasting the changes of weather.
The most incongruous fragment of this entire ordeal might very well be that this has apparently been scampering about for 130 years. How can this possibly be?
Now, even though I have been to the early, ridiculous gatherings, it seems like just a year or two ago we have had dealings with Phil & his vaguely gentlemanly, rhymey-timey committee. The place their top hats upon their parted coifs, and believe they speak the "groundhogese" Phil dotes upon their waxed ears (possibly built up from the rich amounts of pomades used to slick the follicles into place upon their scalps).
Here, Carlow & I, have taken a short time to settle in these modern times of Possum Trot, so imagine my consternation of my early days, before the hiraetherism set in, right there before us. Quite surreal to see my Carlow wringing his tentacles in great excitement to see Phil & his committee still performing these antics.
I realize I have traveled, albeit to the possible bewilderment of the folks in my surroundings of how we got here in the first place (vortexes, portals, and such...), it still appears we have been in this place before. Seems like the yesterday of yesteryear as to watching the spectacle of Gobbler's Knob. And yet - here we are; through the portals & vortexes of time as we travel about, in our hiraetherism, the ages appear the same within the same spectacle - frighteningly so.
Maybe, ever so possibly, we have done this oh-so-many times before this one. This day - of a forecasting almanac of a groundling woodchuck! Telling the same gentleman (whom I postulate were there at Gobbler's Knob to begin with) about not laying eyes upon a shadow.
Spring, we now speculate, shall hence forth early? It is an early February day, upon the calendar - though it is to be Winter's playground, Spring has, indeed, taken the day instead.
That Phil - gives me a bit o' the jimjams.
Yet Carlow nestles with his pelt in grand admiration for Phil.
Here's to a possible-early Springtime, though I remain baffled upon the fact Phil continues on these days. I was to think that these groundling woodchucks only roamed these soils for all-but-a-few years. Either there has been much déjà vu, or Phil is keeping in the best of health for these 130 years.
That, or there is a treacherous obligation to keep the namesake going...
As a Poulpé involved in the teuthology field, I recognize how this can be quite taxing.
Well then, the Groundling Woodchuck Day has apparently been "Merry" with announcement of possible early Spring! I shall brew some tea to celebrate. And I shall allow Carlow to nap in sweetest dreams with good news of Phil's (whichever he is in line) grand announcement. The thought of him in dreamland forecasting a continual dampness for "wet season" surely entertains my thinks.
I do wonder if we'll experience this type of moment again...
Merry Groundling Woodchuck Day, to you, anyway.
Merry Groundling Woodchuck Day, to you, anyway.
